Carla Kelly (13 page)

“You say the girls were so young. Surely he would want to know what happened to his little sisters?”

“It may be that there are too many hard feelings to overcome, even now, six years later. I cannot say. Civil war is merciless. But if you wish to send a letter, I will hold the dispatches here until nine o’clock tomorrow morning.”

Nez bowed. “Very well, Your Excellency. I will think about it.”

He thought about it on the ride home, and through the early evening hours, well aware that Liria Valencia, the daughter of a grandee, had given him no leave to meddle in her life. He shook his head when Pomeroy suggested dinner, and paced the floor of the Yellow Saloon instead. He reasoned that a woman who left Spain because her relatives had no wish to see her again knew what she was doing. He also knew how angry it made him when Gussie tried to make decisions for him. No one had given him leave to force Liria’s hand.

He went to bed, only to toss and turn and think about his own sister. True, Gussie is a boil and a wart, he reasoned, but if she were to vanish from my life, I would wonder what had become of her. Liria is no pain to anyone. It could be that her brother has worn out the world searching for her. He counted off each hour as it gonged in the corridor clock outside his bedchamber. Exhausted finally from wrestling with his conscience, he went to his desk, lit the lamp, and hunted for paper and ink—began to write.

A thought struck him, and he nearly tipped over the ink pot. If she is reconciled to those relatives, she and Juan will leave me. The thought was so disquieting that he put down the pen and stared at what he had already written. He picked up the pen a half hour later, and wrote until dawn had come and gone. Bleary-eyed and exhausted, he summoned Pomeroy, handed him the sealed letter, and told him to hurry with it to the Spanish embassy. He dressed quickly and was gone in the chaise before his footman returned from Peel Street.

His ride back to Yorkshire did nothing to settle his anxiety. The letter was irretrievably on its way to Spain, and he knew that diplomatic pouches traveled more swiftly than any other correspondence. Within weeks Liria’s brother would receive his letter. What will he do? Those Spaniards are a proud lot. There may be more bad blood than anyone can overcome.

With that in mind, his misgivings about mentioning to Liria any of his meddling grew stronger. Disgusted with himself for all his presumptions, he decided that Audrey was right; he probably wouldn’t be rehabilitated until he became less impulsive. He sighed and looked out the window, moodily watching the countryside in full bloom just outside the glass. He thought about Richard Carr then, an older man, and from some accounts, a quiet man who kept to himself, at least until that moment at the crossroads when he saw a ragged young woman and stopped. What was it about her, Sergeant, he asked himself. What singled her out to you, after a lifetime of war, and work, and solitude? I know she is no English beauty, but what is it that compelled you to take a second look and then another? You had obviously resisted such an impulse before; why then? What was it about her? What is it about any man and any woman?

He thought of Libby then, and her love for Tony Cook, the clumsiest man on the planet, a nearsighted, overweight surgeon who would always be too busy. “I don’t pretend to understand it, Libby,” he said. “You could have had me, and you chose him.” The thought kept him quiet and distracted through the days of travel and the nights of restless sleep in inns frequented by people of quality, but with mattresses not his own and unfamiliar food. By the time Knare came into view, he decided that love was a miracle not given to everyone. He also knew that he would say nothing to Liria Valencia about his impulsive letter to her brother.

I think I will not leave Knare again, he decided as he saw his own mansion finally. He wanted to walk in Mama’s gardens again, and breathe in the fragrance of the flowers. Perhaps Liria would come with him, if he asked. She was a quiet woman, who knew it was none of her business whether he was rehabilitated or not. Everyone wants me to change, he thought sourly: Gussie, Tony and Libby, Audrey for certain. I wonder if Liria wants me to change, or Juan.

The carriage stopped in the driveway, and he looked out to see the row of servants, everyone orderly, and expectant, with none of the confusion or distress after Mrs. Burlew’s death. He saw the little goose girl by the pond with her charges, and he waved to her. There were traveling visitors, too, on the walkway that led around to the gardens in the rear of the house. They stopped to gawk at him, and he wished he had thought to comb his hair better, or make some attempt to find a better suit of clothes before leaving Half Moon Street. Here I am in all my dirt, he thought. If you were expecting something grand, I hate to disappoint you.

He got out of the carriage when Haverly let the steps down, and was gratified to see Luster standing next to Liria and Juan.
“Qué pasa, Juan?”
he asked.

Before Liria could react and hold him back, Juan ran to him from the line of servants. Without a thought beyond his own pleasure, Nez picked him up, held him out to look at him, then pulled him close. “I missed you, Juan,” he whispered.

The boy burrowed in close to him. “I thought you were not coming back,” he said.

You don’t care whether I am reformed, or not, do you? he thought as he rubbed Juan’s back and enjoyed the moment. You just missed me. “Of course I was coming back. I live here, Juan,” he said.

“I’m sorry, senor.” It was Liria, close now, frowning. “Forgive him, please, if he seems to think you are his special property. I will talk to him about it.”

“Please don’t, Miss Valencia,” he replied. “I like a greeting like this.” He shifted the child to his hip and walked with her toward the entrance. “I didn’t think I would be gone so long, but I went to London.” He turned to Luster. “By the way, Luster, you will be pleased to know that Pomeroy has carried through all of the redecorating on Half Moon Street. You were wise to leave him in charge.”

“Indeed, Your Grace. Thank you,” Luster replied. “If you will excuse me, I think I will go lie down again.” He gestured toward Liria. “Miss Valencia has been of vast help during my convalescence, but she gets remarkably imperious when I do not rest.”

“Certainly Luster,” he said, mystified. “Shall I come and see you later belowstairs?”

“If you wish, Your Grace.”

A frown on his face, Nez watched as Luster actually permitted one of the under footmen to help him up the front steps. “What has happened to Luster?” he asked Liria.

“I fear he is not recovering so quickly from his illness,” she said. “I make sure that he lies down, which vexes him.”

“I fear that retirement looms,” Nez said.

With one gesture, Liria indicated for the servants to return to the house. “The servants tell me how devoted he is to you.”

“There’s no accounting for some people, is there?” he joked. “I’m no paragon—far from it! But there is Luster, always at my side. I think he was crushed that I would not take him to Spain seven years ago, when Father bought my commission.”

Liria leaned toward him, and he held his breath, deeply aware that it was the first time she had ever moved closer in his direction. “I do spend a great deal of time with him, and he has told me so much about how to run Knare.”

He smiled at her evident enthusiasm, something he had not really noticed before in her quiet, dignified competence. I could almost suspect that you are beginning to enjoy life at Knare, he thought. “I trust that you have managed everything to my satisfaction, Miss Valencia,” he told her. He purposefully kept his voice low, so she would not move away. “Hopefully none of the traveling visitors have walked off with my silverware, and Juan and Sophie still have all their fingers and toes after helping with the geese.” He looked around. “By the way, where is the Empress?”

Somehow that question broke the spell. Liria sighed and moved away from him slightly. They climbed the front steps, and he nodded to the underfootman, who held open the door. Nez set Juan down, but the boy stayed next to him. “I do not know if I have done the right thing with
la Infanta,
senor,” Liria said, and he enjoyed her quiet Spanish double play on words. “I let La Senorita St. John take charge of Sophie, and she has been spending time there, learning to embroider.”

“That sounds perfectly unexceptionable, particularly since Audrey will probably be spending quite a lot of time here, herself.” Did I just say that? Nez asked himself, wondering that the words seemed to be coming out of someone else’s mouth.

“That was what I thought, too, senor, but Sophie is not pleased with it,” Liria said. “I do not understand it, but she tells me she would rather count sheets with me in the linen closet than learn something more suited to her station.”

“Maybe she sees embroidery as boring beyond belief, Liria,” he said.

“And sheets are interesting?”

He knew she was teasing him then, and he relished the moment beyond anything he had experienced in recent days. When she joked with him, her eyes lighted up and she looked less like a housekeeper and more like the young woman he knew she was.

“My dear housekeeper, sheets are fascinating!” he said. “You can make tents in the breakfast room on rainy days, or knot them together and escape from your bedroom.”

“You never did that as a child!”

“No, I never did, Liria, and more’s the pity. When I have children of my own, I believe I will. Why, we could even hoist a sail on the terrace and search for the New World.”

She looked him in the eye as he spoke such idiocy, and he knew how pleasant it was for a woman to do that. You are indeed my equal, Liria Valencia, he thought. Even more; if what the ambassador says is true, you are my superior.

“Senor, I hope you and your children do these things someday,” she said. “Although . . .” She stopped and looked away.

“Although what?”

“I do not think that La Senorita St. John would entirely approve. She has already been over here, and expressed her views on estate management.” Liria frowned. “I am not so certain they include the wearing of sheets.”

“We shall see, Liria,” he said. “Juan, help me carry my saddlebags upstairs, will you? I believe they are in the carriage.”

Accompanied by Juan an hour later, he crossed the park to Ash Grove, and made himself known to the butler, while Juan remained outside. Sophie leaped up from the sofa where she was embroidering, and in a moment he was swinging her around as she shrieked. “I hear that Miss St. John is turning you into an accomplished young lady,” he said with a wink to Audrey, as he set down his niece on the sofa again.

“And not a moment too soon,” Audrey said. “Benedict, I tell you that she only has ten years until her come-out, but it doesn’t seem to make much of an impression.”

“I doubt it does,” he agreed, flopping down beside her on the sofa. “What did you think about when you were eight, Audrey?”

“My come-out!” she declared.

Too bad it never took, he told himself, and then dismissed the unruly thought as highly unworthy of him. “Well, let me free Sophia from the constraints of tutelage now, my dear Miss St. John. I promise to return her tomorrow . . .”

“Uncle!” Sophie pleaded. “All I do is make knots in thread!”

“It must be good for you,” he told her. “Only think how accomplished Miss St. John is. Why, she probably has drawers and drawers of doilies and things.” My God, and they will probably come to haunt my house in a few months, unless I can restrict them, he thought. “Miss St. John, would you like to go strolling with me in my mother’s garden this afternoon?”

Audrey shook her head emphatically. “Under no circumstances, Benedict! I only sneeze around all those flowers.” To soften her words, she took him by the arm. “That is also something I wish to discuss with you in the near future, Benedict. Since the flowers make my eyes water, perhaps you might consent to turning at least some of that area into an arena to show horses. To begin with, you could save a lot of money by letting go some of the estate’s gardeners. Think how practical that would be.”

Surely she is quizzing me, he thought. “Audrey, where would they find work?”

She shrugged. “Many of the people around here are going to the textile mills.”

Stunned, he engaged in a few more minutes of conversation, then led his niece home with him. Juan had been waiting by the front entrance, and he skipped along beside Sophie. Nez was grateful that the children did not require his attention because he was still reeling from his conversation with Audrey. True, Sir Michael always sang his daughter’s praises. “She is prudent and knows how to manage a household,” he had told Nez on more than one occasion.

“She will manage me into a house pet,” he said, then looked around quickly to make sure that the children had not overheard him. I will be reformed, and docile, and everyone will declare what a good job Audrey has done with me, he thought, feeling more miserable with every step. The Duke of Knaresborough? Oh, he’s a wonderful fellow, potters around his estate and never does any harm.

He watched as Juan ran ahead to visit with the goose girl. Sophie hung back, and soon she was walking hand in hand with him. “Uncle, I really don’t want to embroider,” she told him.

He sat down with her on a bench by the pond. “Miss Valencia tells me that you would rather count sheets with her in the linen closet.”

Sophie made a face. “Oh, we do not particularly like to count sheets, Uncle, and we are so glad that someday we can employ someone to do it in our own household.” She laughed when he tickled her. “Oh, very well! Sheets make my hands rough.”

“Then, what is the attraction?”

Sophie leaned against him, and he was content to sit there with her as the afternoon’s shadows deepened. “It is Miss Valencia, I think,” she said finally, and he could tell that she had given the matter some thought. “She always wants to know about me, and my life, and what I think and care about.” She sat up and turned around slightly to look at him. “And most of all—oh, do not laugh—she touches me.”

“I’m not laughing.”

“She puts her hand on my arm, or sometimes around my shoulder.” She sighed and leaned against him again. “Once she even put both of her hands on my face! Oh, it felt so good, and she looked right in my eyes when she spoke to me.” Sophie tipped her head up a little to look at him. “Has anyone ever done that to you? I mean you are tall, and I suppose it is hard to look in your eyes.”